A Close Shave
by GlitterFrog
Summary: When Mrs. Lovett misuses one of Sweeney's razors, she doesn't expect him to intervene. Trigger warning: self-injury. Rated for some language, angst, and suggestiveness.


A/N: Wrote this in a dark mood. If you feel like this, it won't stay that way. Remember your friends and loved ones. It really is impossible to hurt yourself without hurting the ones who love you. Consider this a big hug from me. ***hugs***

This idea has been done already. My apologies for that. Hope you enjoy anyway.

A Close Shave

a Sweenett

Dark red ran the length of her arm and landed in fat coins on the worn carpet. Eleanor Lovett's teeth clamped her lower lip hard enough to make her eyes sting. Briefly, Toby's face flickered into her mind. She saw the worry in his eyes- and the pain. _Why, Mum?_ The tiny redhead closed her eyes and shut out the image. No. She had lots of scars from both the oven and her cleaver. It would be just one more lie. A mewl escaped her scraped-up lips as Sweeney's friend dug another furrow for the lie she'd have to tell the boy. Why the bloody hell did he have to trust her, anyhow? She'd lied to him from his first hour in her shop. Just like she'd been lying to Sweeney since the poor man had had the misfortune to cross her doorstep.. She bit back a small scream as the friend let her know just what it thought of that. Crimson trickled into her skirts and further smeared her shaking, white-knuckled fingers. Dry sobs hitched in her chest and she arched her already aching back and gasped at the admonition for loving a married man. For a red tangled mess of curls that would never be blonde. For curves that refused to obey a corset. For being powerless to control even a beat of her stupid, desperate heart. For every scrape of her cleaver across a clavicle. For every hour spent in this fetid claustrophobic hellhole.

"_ELEANOR!"_ The roar sent her scrambling nearly out of her skin. Sweeney crossed the bedroom in three predatory strides. His frigid fingers crashed over hers. "Mister Todd!" she yelped, belatedly. They engaged in a grim tug-of-war for the friend. In the end Sweeney won, and Nellie screamed as he ripped the silver flicker from her flesh and sleeve. One hand seized the back of her head. The demon barber's black eyes burned. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Terrified, indignant, and far too upset to be rational, she screamed back at him. "This is MY room!" He squeezed her skull like it was a melon for sale and he a choosy buyer and hissed, "Answer me." His nearness at that moment was a slap, not a comfort. Squirming, Nellie yelled, "I'm playin' hopscotch!" He shook her, and she slapped a gory handprint across his face. "You let go right n-" "These are for _shaving_," he held the bejeweled friend so close to her eyes that it stung her nose. Hot tears made her room blur, and she blinked furiously. "I'm sorry to 'ave defiled your fr-" "_**SHUT UP!"**_

It wasn't the first time that his passion had scared her; far from it. She hated the trembling that still shot into her limbs and the way her heart twisted right into the pit of her stomach. The baker wanted to get up in his face and scream back at him till she'd hurt him every bit as he'd gutted her. Naturally, she only managed a high-pitched snarl before being swept away in a tide of poorly-dammed sobs. _Stupid useless worthless pathetic creature!_ The fingers clamped on the back of her head tentatively shifted, as if uncertain whether they wanted to adjust their grip or retreat altogether. You could've knocked her over with a poof of flour when she felt Sweeney's strong arms bundle her up. He lifted her as if she were no more than a bowl of dough. The baker couldn't help whimpering as the unexpected movement made every slash in her arms sting like fire. The stinging escalated as he marched rapidly up the stairs to his shop. The demon barber shifted one arm and the door to his shop flew open. He stalked inside, kicking the door shut again with a thunderous slam. He deposited Mrs. Lovett into his chair- not gently, but not overly roughly either- and did an abrupt about-face in order to get at his mirror and supply cabinet.

The loopy redhead hid her face in both hands and pulled her knees up to her chin, truly not caring if that didn't look at all ladylike. She wasn't sure how long she was curled up like that: long enough for a slow burn to set in at the base of her spine and the air trapped in the pocket between her arms and lap to get hot and stuffy. The next thing she knew, the chair tipped back a bit. Mrs. Lovett's head snapped up. Considerably alarmed, she scrambled to get to her feet. Cool fingers pressed against her shoulder and collarbone firmly enough to push her back into the seat. As Sweeney reached around the arm of the chair, she shuddered. The cool fingers left her collarbone and took her arm. She heard water running into a bowl, as if a cloth were being wrung out. Then something cold and wet touched her arm. It retreated only to dab at another spot an instant later. She assumed it was just water until the burning flared to impossible heights. The baker yelped in agony and made a more earnest attempt to get up. "That burns, Mister T!" "It's only a little alcohol," was his reply. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and she squirmed.

"Oh please please please, Benjamin, make it stop."_ Oh, bugger me._ The cloth froze, and so did she. _Blast it all._ A little of the strong-smelling alcohol ran down her arm and sank into the fabric of her dress. A single drop thunked onto the toe of one of Sweeney's boots. Then, ever so slowly, the dabbing resumed. "I can't stop now. Otherwise, infection will set in." "Wot's a little infection?" she mumbled, shaking from the pain. His fingers squeezed the clothe like it had wronged him. She could feel his knuckles trembling against the inside of her arm. "Well, if it's not treated properly, it'll kill you." Nellie was silent a little too long. The fingers on her arm tightened, and she whimpered involuntarily. The trembling in his vice grip was being conducted up to her elbow. "A-alright, alright, love- I'll hold still." And she did, praying to no one that her relative compliance would make him ease up a little. In time, he resumed. The baker bit her tongue and dug her nails into the arms of the chair. Mercifully, the cloth that spread unbearable stinging was replaced by the whisper of clean, dry fabric. She watched as the barber rolled up some billowing white fabric into a pad. She squinted. That couldn't be..

"Mister Todd! That's one of your good shirts!" He pressed it to her gory arm and told her, "Hold this," as if she hadn't spoken. She was still too shaken to argue further. Half a minute later, Sweeney wound a length of bandages up the length of the wounded arm. He took her hand, tied a knot that wasn't too firm around her thumb, and sliced off the excess eight inches of material. Her neck and face were roasting. "Th-thanks, love." She tried to stand (as it was most unwise to spend more time in Mr. Todd's chair than was absolutely necessary) and encountered only one hitch. He had not released her hand. "Mister Todd?" Nothing. She tugged just slightly. "Sweeney?" No measurable response. Might as well go for broke…"Benjamin?" He was staring off into space, lost in his own dark garden of thoughts. The fingers enfolding hers shook. A single drop moistened the back of one of her knuckles. Mrs. Lovett looked into his face and was flabbergasted to see that his dark eyes were shining. When Sweeney spoke, his words were even, but his trembling ratcheted up. "I can't lose you too, pet." And just like that, her heart was simultaneously wrenched and reassured beyond the capacity for words.

The baker picked up her skirts, pulled the barber around the chair, and stood up. She led him across the room, sat down on his bed, and patted her lap. He stared blankly at her for nearly a minute, and with each second she feared more that she'd imagined that precious whisper. Then the mattress creaked and his head landed in her lap. Her hungry fingers ran like they'd longed to for twenty-some years through his messy locks, pampering the streak with strokes. "There, there, love." She should have been abashed at her own forwardness, or anxious, or at the very least uncomfortable. But this felt natural…so natural. For once, there was no fear or tension. Only tenderness. "S'alright," she whispered, "S'alright, my love. You're not going to lose your Nellie." One arm curled just above her bottom, and his other arm slid across her thigh, encircling her. Mrs. Lovett cupped his cheek and twirled his locks around her little fingers. She wiped the single wet streak from his face and lifted his hand to give it a tender kiss. "Forgive me, dear." Kiss. "I-I never meant to 'urt you. Only meself."

His growl was muffled by her dress, but it was one of his signature growls nonetheless. "Impossible." And he pulled her closer. They stayed like that until Nellie's bladder could bear no more, and she tore herself away to head downstairs. Heavy steps followed her. The talkative redhead turned, surprised, and was met by a stony but resolute face. She blinked thrice, then picked up her skirts and hurried downstairs. Sweeney was never more than three steps behind. She jogged to the toilet and just made it. She came out, smoothing a section of hair out of her face…

…and found Sweeney leaning against the wall not six inches from the door. Her hand flew to her heart. "Goodness, Mister T! Gave me a right fright, you did." He glared at the ground in response, a hint of color dancing across his well-shaped cheekbones. He came and sat on Albert's old stool while she made some dough for the next day. She could feel his eyes on with every push of her nimble hands through the dough. His proximity kept her head a little higher than usual. Once she was good and sweaty (and pretty well-seasoned with flour and dough to boot), Mrs. Lovett quitted to kitchen and went back to the bathroom to take a bath.

She put in the drain plug into the tub and turned on the taps. While it filled, she got out a towel, a washcloth, and some of her favorite soaps. Sweeney observed from the doorway. The plucky baker didn't know that he was there until his hand covered her razor before she could take hold of it. She nearly jumped into the tub. He ignored her surprise. "Wot are you doing?" Recovering with considerable effort, she stammered, ears growing hot as embers, "Well- I was going to shave my, uh, legs- and p'raps me….erm, underarms." "Then get yourself shave-ready." Not wanting to test him in this weird mood, she slipped into her bedroom and returned wrapped only in a towel. Sweeney laid a hand on the nape of her neck and guided her to the bathtub. Nellie sat down on the tub's edge and dipped her legs into the warm water, shutting off the taps one at a time with one hand. Sweeney stirred a bowl of shaving cream that he must have gotten while his landlady was struggling out of her corset and garters and sat down beside her. Taking one of Mrs. Lovett's tiny feet into his hand ("Mister _TODD!"_) and resting her little wet heel on his knee at an angle that wouldn't make her want to leap headlong into the Thames, the demon barber got to work at what he did best.

His brush stroked up and down her calf, hiding it in a thick white lather that both tickled and tingled. He lathered up to her lower thigh, running both dexterous hands along her leg. His fingers travelled down to her ankle, stroking each little bone and smoothing across the top of her foot. The baker trembled, waiting for the first stroke. She hardly felt it. The blade skimmed across her skin, leaving a trail as smooth as Toby's prepubescent cheek. Nellie shivered. "Hold still, love." Obediently, she huddled against Sweeney's side and budged not an inch. The blade cut a clean swathe on top of that blasted bony area that she always ended up nicking half to pieces. It slipped under her calf and lapped its way up her thigh, pausing only briefly to rinse its head in the bathwater. She gaped in amazement as Sweeney set down a leg that could have been Aphrodite's. He finished the other one even more quickly. When he lifted up one of her arms and gently baptized the underarm closest to him with a scoop of bathwater and a little cream, Mrs. Lovett seriously considered the possibility that this was all some wonderful fangirly dream.

When he stroked his razor under her arm and just barely caressed the very top of her breast, holding her wrist in his strong fingers all the while, she couldn't help but whimper. "Bloody hell, Nellie…" He bundled her closer, though. He finished her underarm in three clean strokes and ran his finger along the pit to make sure that he'd done well. Satisfied that he had, the messy-haired introvert moved on to the hyperventilating baker's other arm. Sffft. Sffft. Sff. Done. Sfft. One more just to be sure. Sff. Two. There. Flawless. He got up, taking the razor with him. From the bedroom, she heard her mattress squeak under his hiney. Her every muscle and bone atremble, Nellie derobed and slipped into the waiting embrace of the water.

Mrs. Lovett couldn't be sure, but just before she drifted off to dreams, she thought that a hand smoothed the curls falling across the back of her slim neck and warm breath stirred against her ear. Whether or not these were phantom sensations conjured up by her admittedly dazed senses, she slept more soundly than she had in months. * * * *

In the morning, Mrs. Lovett served the peckish Monday rush. Her tenant had retreated to his upstairs cocoon. Toby responded to her state with a tight hug and a slightly wavering entreaty to not ever do it again. He lifted the heavier trays for her, swept her side of the shop, and threw the old woman out without having to be prompted even once. If she went into the kitchen, so did he. He waited at the top of the bakehouse steps and burred to her side the moment she re-emerged. Towards closing time, the baker took him aside. "Toby, love, I feel much better today. You needn't fuss over me so." "I'm glad to hear it, Mum, but I got me orders." "Orders? From whom?" His big eyes gazed solemnly up at her. "Mister Todd told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't ta let you out of my sight." Nellie felt pretty weak in the knees, and it had nothing to do with her wounds. She just barely heard herself whisper, "Did 'e say anything else?" "Yes'm, he said if you started bleedin' through your bandages that I was to drag you up those stairs iffen I 'ad to." Nellie squeezed his hands, stared up at the ceiling, and listened to the restless tattoo of her savior's footsteps.


End file.
